


scream my name

by Psythe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Earth C (Homestuck), F/F, Fight Sex, Hermaphroditic Trolls (Homestuck), Non-Epilogue AU, Oral Sex, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Troll Anatomy, Vaginal Sex, Xeno, excessive cum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psythe/pseuds/Psythe
Summary: “So this is my coolest most amazeballs magic trick - bibbidy bobbidy boo, alakazam, abracadabra-” and she sticks her hand into your thigh and your legs freeze solid for a sec, “-and hey check it, I made a shitty sea hag’s panties... DISAPPEAR,”





	scream my name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleblackduckling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackduckling/gifts).



_fist fights, long nights, come home late,_

_can't sleep, i keep me awake_

_flip through the lives on TV,_

_[i'll say, for now, i'm happy.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2D7BcyxRY4) _

 

“Bouys and gills, ladies an’ gentlefish, one and all,” You clap your fronds together and then spray ‘em out wide. “it is ma pleasure to whalecome yall to the grand openin’ ‘a Meenah Piexes’ Maritime Perplexities. I’m here to perchsonally ashore ya that yall are gonna sea carp that’ll blow ya pans. We got a guarantee here at MP’s MP, ya see somefin ya ain’t never sean before ebbery visit.” You swing your gold struttin’ stick around in the air. “Bring ya whole clade, folks, buy seven wiggler tickets and the eighth one’s free!”

Not a bad shoal’a suckerfish for opening day, you think. Buncha carpapaces and a whole pod’a dumb consort critters, plus a gaggle’a trolls and a mess’a humans. The humans are what surprises you - the consorts and chessfish are free clams, they’ll follow someone what played the game anywhere. They’re kinda programmed to think you’re the coolest, which as far as you’re conchcerned just means they’re finclined to sea reelality clearly. Trolls are kinda half and half; a lot’a them think you’re great because you act like a troll and not like a coddam spineless eel like everyone around here (this place ain’t as bad as back home, but _glub_ is it boring most’a the time), but otherwise you gotta earn their boonies. Humans, though, humans got no time for your shenanigans. Fishtful ‘a soft-ass pink-skinned lame-basses with their junk on the outside like weirdos, and the worst fuckin part is that they mean _business._ None’a ‘em stronger than a green without echeladder levels, and they’re _equals_ here.

(At first you trout it was bullshark. By now you’ve disearned that it’s ‘cuz they make up for being so soft and shrimpy by being _glubbing hard core._ )

So if there’s humans here, it must be ‘cuz you got a winner this time. Oh shell yea.

They start forkin’ over the boons and Eridan starts forkin’ over the tickets. (Cro Jr’s a good little guppy. He’s annoying, shore, and you gotta pay him, but he works for pennies and he conchmpliments you all the time. Cronus works for free and butters you up seaven more, but no amount of unpaid labor is worth having to deal with Cronus.)

That of course is not enough to _avoid_ Cro. He’s first in line for the show. He’s first in line to get into _all_ your gigs. He gives you his shitty weak-chin smile. You glare at him. But, his clams are as good as anyone else’s, so you give Eri the thumbs-up to let him in.

People start tricklin’ on in. They get all oohin and aahin over the surface level carp, your rock samples and your posters of deep-sea critters. It’s all flippin boring, but rule one to makin’ bank is Know Your Market. Boring losers like boring stuff. That’s why you’re gussied up in a nice froofy tyrian suit like some kinda rainbowfish in old Feferi’s court. Dumb waste’a rags and cash, but this is what a businesstroll’s supposed to look like around here. You do what you grotto do for the waters you’re swimmin’ in, like an octopoid changing its colors.

You see some blue with a mob’a troll and human wigglers followin’ her around, gettin’ all pumped up aboat your collection’a maritime predator teeth. Makos ya sick - kid otter have a lusus, not a culler - but spray, it works for you! That’s another thing you’ve learned - kids can talk their guardians into buyin’ _anyfin._ “Replicas of everyfin availabubble in the gift shop,” you announce, tapping your stick against the dispray stand. “Ya know, I collected alla these myshellf,” The blue raises an eyebrow but the sprats swarm around you with big wide ganderbulbs. “That one there’s a beak from a feral squid lusus. She almost got me, lemme tell ya.”

“I thought it was a crustacean claw.” The culler frowns at you.

“Nope. That’s a big ol’ cephalosnappa. Pulled it outta her gaper with ma own two fronds. Well actshoally it only took one frond, ‘cuz Ima boss ass beach,”

The blue ain’t happy but her entourage goes frog-eyed and starts askin’ questions. Oh yeah, you tell them. You had sucker marks all over for _weeks._ _Oh_ yea, there was blood _everywhere._ Na, nonea it was yours. (This is almost all true.)

“Listen, squirts, ya think this is cool, just bait til ya see the main event.” You point at the door downstairs with your stick. “Nomoby ever seen this before. Straight from the bottoma the Violet Ocean!”

“Hey, uhh, about that,”

You slap yourshellf in the face. “Aw come ON,” You’d know that glubbin’ voice anemonewhere.

She was sitting on the raised bit of wall next to the stairs, invisible. Or moby she was somewhere else and she just like phased through the surface? Or, stepped in here from the void, or waterever the eff it is she does, voidy ship makes your pan ache if you think aboat it too long. (So, y’know, she picked the right coddamn aspect.) “Get outta here,” you snap, “This is adfishion only and you ain’t bought a ticket, which I know ya ain’t cause I told Eri not to shell any to ya,” you whap your stick against a big poster next to the caegardrawer that has a picture of her dumb human face crossed out with a big X.

“I go where I want, Meeners!” she sticks out her tongue at you and kicks her heels against the wall all lazy-like. “I’m an Outlaw, ain’tcha heard? That’s what Rosie says my class’s - ahem-” she puts on a pretty OK impression of her dancestor’s super precise immaculate voice, “‘Unifying Myth’ is. So basically I got official metaphysical permission from the infiniverse to eff the po-lice and not pay for goods and or services if those services are bein’ rendered by big fat crooks who are also liars! That’s the worst kinda crook, y’know.” That imperchsonation sounds way too much like Serk’s voice for your tastes. You don’t need your glubbin’ flushgal’s words coming out of your stupid fishmesis’s squawk blister.

“Hey now Ima crook shore but I ain’t no liar. Now, Ima put this in terns ya can understand - G T F O.” You tap the little switch in your gold stick and prongs pop out of both ends as it transforms into your 2x3. You level it at her.

But now there’s a buncha carapaces askin’ for her autograph and getting in your way and makoing her look cool and ship! “I ain’t going anywhere, Meanie, I gotta service to do for these good people,” she’s saying. She’s signing chess peeps’ books and outfits and foreheads with a pink marker. “You-” she shouts, standing up on the wall, “are a _faker!!!_ ” She jabs a touch stalk at you dramatically.

“I’m the reelest thing that’s ever swum,” you say, sticking your thumb into your own chest, “There’s only onea me and I’m the genuine darticle.”

“Gosh darn rite,” she shoots a big wink your way. You grimace as it makes your pusher thump black. Coddamn stupid sexy human. “but your star attraction???” She leans over towards you. “Your _pièce de résistance??_ More like cheap pièce of shit, lol,”

“Ya take that back,” you snarl. (That thing absolutely was not cheap. Cost way too glubbin much, frankly.)

“My momma told me never to go back on the truth, Meens!”

“Yo momma was a political allegoricator. She was basically a profishional BSer,”

She terns red. “Your big centerpiece is a sham!!!”

“Get outta ma estabfishment!!!” The carapaces are gettin’ mad now. They’re so dam loyal. Ya grotto love em, except when it ain’t you they’re loyal to. “She ain’t ebben ya empress!” you groan as they start jeering at you. “She’s a human! Getcha own empress ya buncha woolbeasts!”

She resurfaces in the middlea the block. She decarptchas your big exhibit, your perfectly preserved mouth-fossil of a giant megashark from ancient times, the greatest predator that’s ebber cut loose above or below the waves, so old and boss that there aren’t even any lusii. This motherglubber was around before trolls, and its descendants are gonna be around after. “Careful with that!!!” you shriek. She smiles an evil little smile at you. Oh you do not like that smile, not one tiny anchovy bite.

“Ok,” she says, “who knows how my powers work?”

“Oh ma cod don’t start with ya void pollocks again,”

“CLAM IT,”

Wow, you think. She used a nautical pun. You always feel all weird in your thorax when she does that. _Glub_ its annoyin. “Ok so, any volunteers?”

A few hands go up. Then they go down with little squeaks and thumps. Then one of them goes up again. It’s grey. Cronus elbows his way up to the front of the crowd, waving his annoying grasper.

“Uhhh… OK, Cro?”

“Thank you, doll. Obvwiously I keep myself up to date on the latest ideas comin’ out of your lovwely bloodline. Speakin’ of dates-”

“GET TO THE POINT CRO OR IMA SKEWER YA ON ONE,” You would rather let your dam fishmesis make a point than listen to him hit on her.

“ _Fine,_ ” He looks sort of offended, like it’s you who was bein rude, or that someone interrupting Cronus’s dumb BS was a new development. “As the Rogue of Vwoid, you havwe the povwer to conjure any object from pure nothingness, provwided that object doesn’t already exist anyvwhere, thus givwing it a sufficient nothingness attribute.” Then he winks at her.

(Lalonde shares a ‘wtf when did Cronus become sorta well-informed’ look with you. You shrug. Cronus will do basically anyfin at least for a little while if he thinks it might get him into someone’s swim trunks.)

“Uh. Yea, spot on. Right, guys?” A bunch a carapaces and some others all nod. (Fuckin stupid, lettin so many schmucks learn what your powers do. Fuckin showy ass Lalonde wearin her dumb Horuss-colored duds everywhere, tryin’a make a big splash all the time, like she aint a dam Void player. Don’t see you paddlin around lookin all ostentatious and ship.) “Ok, so, that means…”

You realize what she’s gonna do a second pinafore she does it. She gets all focused and then claps her fronds together, and then spreads em wide like she’s givin someone a hug - and then _CLUNK,_ and there’s another set of stone megashark choppers sittin’ on the floor a your lobby.

Ebberyone goes reel quiet for a minnow.

“So,” she says, “if you’re followin’ along, I wouldn’t’a been able to make this if any actually existed in the world! Which means that because this-” she pats the side of the new jawbone, “-exists now, then that one-” she points a touch stalk at your exhibit, “has to be a fake!”

“So _you,_ ” She terns that stalk on you like a legislacerator in the courtblock, “are a _fraud!!!"_

“Ya cant prove nothin!” you snap back.

“I just did!”

“Ya coulda faked that, maybe ya just decarptchaed it and waved ya graspers around all fancy,”

“I had five different archeologists confirm it! I’m a _scientist_ , Meens,”

“Eff them, they alwaves miss somefin, and I’m the Queen a the glubbin Depths, ain’t no one can dive where I can dive,”

“One of ‘em was Aradia!!!”

“Fork you, Lalonde!!” You grab your 2x3.

“If you’re offerin’, babe,” she waggles her eyebrows at you. Your pusher does that thing again and you feel a hot little tingle that ripples from your hornbeds down to your sheath. Runny black tar bubbles in your blood vessels.

“She probubbly faked this!” you yell at the crowd. The carapaces are booing you again and giving ya guff for callin their empress a liar. “Her buoyfrond _and_ her gillfrond are big jokers, I bet they put her up ta this!”

“You leave Johnny and Janey outta this!” She grabs the fresh-spawned jaw fossil and whitecaptchas it. “You’re the faker. You better give these folks their money back. That’s false advertisin’.”

You point your fork at a sign pasted next to the ‘no Roxys’ one, that says ‘NO REEFUNDS’ in big fuschia letters.

You give her a big mouthful a shark teeth. “No courtblock in the world’d conchvict me.”

She glares at you. Bein’ mad does glubbin magical things to her face. “Listen, don’tcha blame me for solvin’ your problem for ya. Your big display’s real now! This one ain’t a fake, I can vouch for that personally! This giant ubershark mouth has a Roxy Lalonde certificate of authenticity attached.”

She smirks. “I’ll sell it to ya.”

You bare your fangs and snarl. “I aint lettin ya poach any more a ma profits!!!”

“That’s my job, hun,” she flashes her white human teeth at you. “Steal from the rich and give to the poor,”

“Yea,” you growl, “and water ya givin em?. Don’t your thing mean ‘steals nofin and then gives nofin to people?’ That’s a pretty carppy destfiny if ya think aboat it. Basically means ya do glub-all,”

 _That_ puts a dent in her hull. “...well, yeah,” she’s a stroke slow with the comeback, “I’m, not gonna give ‘em anything, ‘cuz you’re gonna have no profits to steal!!”

You hoist up your pointy jam and toss it.

Roxy goes translucent and your ‘dent phases through her and clangs off onto the stairs. “If it got nicked ya payin for it Lalonde!” you yell as you run towards her.

You jump on her. You’re stronger than her - ain’t nofin in this boring little tidepool of a world as strong as you, except maybe Feferi - but she just grabs you by the arm and under the shoalder and lifts. Your strut pods leave the ground and she _throws_ you with your own momentum.

 _Coddamn fistkinders,_ you think as you sail through the air.

You slam into the wall, upside down, and slowly slide to the floor.

“Touchdown!!” She glubs as you bump your horns on the linoleum - and then her giant whale of a grin drains out some as you crawl back onto your pods. You grimace, and pick up your fork. Your head is minorly bruised. _Reely_ minorly.

“Ow,” you grunt.

You run at her, jabbing with your fork one-handed like a harpoon. She flows around it. She’s slippery like a coddam eel. The customers start swimmin around like dumb glassfish lost tracka their school. Her hand darts in and grabs the fork, pulls it under her armpit and she tugs you in in closer. “Shouldn’t we be havin’ a little privacy for this?”

“No scales off ma node,” You grin your mouthful grin at her again, reaching out to grip her by her scarf. “Betcha these waders’d pay good clams to watch me kick your tailfin,” You hiss at her, fins fanned out, growlin and rumbling deep in your thorax, full-on threat dispray.

Overkrill? Nah. She’s worth it.

She grabs you by the wrist, and then you both sink into the floor.

You don’t get cold. Your blood is the coldest and coolest of all, you can go to the bottom a the sea where a human or even a highblood’d die a frostbite if the presshore didnt do em in somehow - but you still feel cold when she does this. It’s dark in a way even the sea trenches aint, dark that leaks in through your gills and your aurals and starts to freeze your endoskeleton. It’s the dark outside, the not-space beyond the edges of the bubbles, where no ghost couldnt ever go or theyd just float away like sand in the current. Matter flows past you and through you, ignoared, you’re litoarally sinkin’ through it, but you know Lalonde ain’t sinkin’. She’s swimmin’.

You’re in your block under the MPMP, where you got a spare cupe and space to store exhibits, crates and shelves fulla carp to wow the dumb lubbers upstairs. You land on floor that’s polite enough to agree that you’re solid again, and like ebbery time it takes ya a minnow to get ya sea legs back. She pats ya on the cheek a few times, cute, makoin sure you’re ocray, it’s almost pale. Ya aint havin any a that, but before you can get angry, she gives you two right in the face.

Right hook, then left cross, and you stagger backwards, growling, but your pump is filling up with black in all the right ways, no wishy-washy vacillation carp - only thing worse than her pullin you outsidea material space and leavin ya seasick would be her goin easy on ya - her havin a free shot and not takin it.

You spit out a little gob a tyrian, rotating your fork in your graspers, and swing it up as she moves in for another hit. She brings up a fist just in time to eat your thwack with the back of her hand instead of with her face.

You grin. You’ll take that.

You side-kick her in the abdomen and then chop your ‘dent down but it goes right through her and clangs on the ground. _Glubbin void players._ She pops back into being physical a few paces off to your right, trying to shake the impact outta her left hand, and you lunge for’ard, getting every ounce a reach outta your fork.

Lalonde dances backwards. You keep up the pressure, poking and stabbing, making her keep backing up - then she sweeps the leg. You jump over it, stick the landing perchfectly - and run your face straight into her right cross.

She puts another one into your sniffnode, then one more, and then sinks a wheel kick right into your thorax.

“Tickles,” you leer, and punch her right in the kisserfish.

She goes _flying,_ crevice over leaf fluid incubator, but she adjusts her trajectoary in mid-air - she’s god tier too, of course - and three-point lands on the crates stacked against the wall like they’re the floor. As you fly after her she springs off, one hand stretched out like a human superhero, aimed right at you, both of you going straight at one another on a collision course. You get a snapshot of her as you close in, one perchfect pictshore that you’re gonna remember for a long time, her face streaked with red blood from where your fist ran aground on her sniffnode, her cute happy pretty human face that’s always giggling and winking and smiling flirtatiously, gritting her fangs and snarling. Cod, she _hates_ you, and it’s _amaseaing._

You hit like two junkers colliding, and when you touch bottom you’re pinning her - but she kicks up and throws you off. You go with the current. Your wings snap out. Tyrian dust showers the floor like spray. You fly like you’re back on Derse, humans can’t ebber understand, not reely. Gravity ain’t shit under the water and it ain’t shit in dreams, you were gettin’ ready to fly for six sweeps ashore you even hit the game, and what’s swimmin’ but flyin’ in water to a Peixes?

You plunge, slamming your fork on top of her like a hammer - you could stab straight down, but a speared fishmesis ain’t no use ta you, ebben if she’d probubbly come back - she rolls, body straight like a pencil, and _clunk,_ you hit dirt floor. You smack down again, she rolls and twists around onto her back, then she bends at the waist, strut pods sticking towards the surface, and moby for just a tiny little shrimp of a second you stop to look at her long legs and then she _springs_ up-

Her feet slam into your face. Depth charges go off behind your lookstubs and you reel as she knocks you out of the flow. She’s back on her feet and coming at you, she cocks you one good across the nugbone, you take another one on your fork and the next one on your arm, she swings a leg and you backfin, swayin’ as your head pounds but still swimmin’.

You swing your elbow up into her next punch. Your elbow wins. She recoils, and you whirlpool your 2x3 above your head (high enough to avoid your horns, they’re comin’ in reel good) and sweep it at her, all in. Ya gonna ring her bell.

She does somefin reel smart in respondse. She goes Voidy.

Your fork passes straight through her ghosty thinkpan and goes wide, _way_ wide, too wide to save, and before you can haul it back in she goes solid again, standing right in fronta you, and she gives you a right, then a left, then two more rights, heel spin, foot in your nugbone, _another_ foot in your nugbone, she just don’t stop, she’s like a tsunami madea fists and blue and pink-

And then she goes back, winds up, and rams an uppercut dead on into your lower jaw.

Spades flash in front of your bulbs. Your feet leave the deck. The threat buzz you were building up in your chest cuts off. Your fangs clash together. You fall onto your galleass and skid straight backwards.

She’s on you like a barnacle then, she jetski-straddles you, you can feel the weight of her even through your scrambled pan, and she reaches down and pulls the ‘dent outta your fist. She tosses it behind her like a piece’a bad seaglass, and it clatters to the ground.

She leans forward, her fronds on your shoalders. “I win,” she says. She leans a forearm onto your throat and presses down just a tuna bit, and as she goes in to kiss you your pusher beats black.

You swing your neck back and then slam your pan into hers.

She squeals in pain and surprise and you get her by the shoalders, stick your knee up, throw her overboard, push her down onto her belly. _“I_ win,” you glub in her hear duct. You take a seat on her back. “How many times is that now?”

“Goddddd, go sit on a bag of dicks, Meens,” she bellyaches, “ya always gotta fight so fuckin dirty,”

You growl at the ache in your nugbone. “Like dunkin me in the void ain’t dirty, Lalonde,” you mutter into her neck as you pull down her scarf, “We’re both thieves, fightin’ dirty is our thing,”

“I’m a _Rogue,_ fuck you very much,”

“Rogue is just a thief with good PR,” You kiss her neck, raking your fangs across her soft human skin. She shivers. You know her well enough by now to tell that it’s a tuna bit freaked out, but also a lotta terned on. (With those Lalondes you’re pretty shore they’re the same thing anywaves.)

“That how ya did her?” You ask, like you do ebbery time. “Voidy fakeout into uppercut?”

Lalonde fights you but you pin her to the deck. You do still want to know, that ain’t gone anemonewhere - but at this point, you do it to annoy her just as much as to find out. “Nope,” she says.

“Yea, ya right, can’t be,” you rake one hand’s worth a claws through her hair, and stroke the other one down her torso pillar and start feeling her up appreciatively. “Obviously, ‘cuz it didn’t work. She nebber woulda fallen for that.”

“So you’re a dumbass, is what you’re sayin’,” She grinds her sweet ass up into you. “Askin’ dumb questions y’already know the answer to.” Your jeans are starting to get uncomfortabubble, your bulge is wiggling so hard in your sheath.

“Ya gonna tell me one day?” you start pulling her leggings down.

“Maybe if y’ever quit askin’,” she snaps. “Shut that shitty shark mouth’a yours - fuckin’, hang on, get off - no, I’m not tryin’ to get away, fuck _off-"_ You struggle for a moment but finally she muscles you away some and grabs you by the frond. “Ok you suck, obvs, but I gotta admit you got great taste, ‘cause you picked a dead sexy rogue biatch for a black squeeze, maybe the dead sexiest rogue biatch thats ever stole from rich d-bags - but she’s not just an outlaw, she’s a _magician,_ too, check this shit out-”

She holds out her hands, wiggling her touch stalks all dramatic like a basshole. “Nothing up my sleeves,”

“You got no sleeves,”

“ _Yea,_ _duh,_ ” she stares at you, “so there can’t be anything _up ‘em_ \- I’m a Hero of _Void_ ??? Not-existing-ness is, like, the source of my powers? Fuckin’ _keep up,_ Meenie.” You grip her hand threateningly, leaving little red spots on the back. “So this is my coolest most amazeballs magic trick -, bibbidy bobbidy boo, alakazam, abracadabra-” and she sticks her hand into your thigh and your legs freeze solid for a sec, “-and hey check it, I made a shitty sea hag’s panties, _disappear,"_

She yanks her arm away and your royal boyshorts are dangling from her fingers. You glub as your bulge starts sliding out. “Shbams,” Lalonde cackles and makes waves with her eyebrows, “I’m just that good, baby, there ain’t no lame fish princess’s underoos that don’t jump through the fabric of physical space to escape from contact with her junk when I walk into the room.” She flicks them away.

You reach backwards and start awkwardly pushing your pants down. “You tested that empirically, little miss scientstiff? You been pullin’ Feffie’s suit off?”

“Ohmygod I _wish,"_ she whines, “Them curves she’s got, _unf.”_ Your pusher thuds protectively and a couple defense clicks pop outta you. Your claws poke through her skirt and dig into her skin. _“Ow,”_ she goes taut under you. She digs an elbow into your thoracic cage. “Bitty Crocker that _hurts,_ not in the sexy way,”

“You get into Fef’s panties, Lalonde?”

“No!” She twists around and lifts up her head. “But if I did, she’s a grown-ass troll and she can bang whoever she wants, huh? Don’t gimme that helicopter mom horse hockey,”

She looks you in the bulb and you see her face, all covered in shark-tooth hickeys and her nose busted, a nice little shiner brewin around one’a those weirdo fake-heiress eyes, that coddam friggin perfect angel puss of hers chewed up, maybe you lost this fight but it was worth it. It’s always worth it, win or lose, to see her like this, pulled down into the mud with the rest a you.

You ease up a bite, but you glare at her, waiting for someone to flinch. Everyone flinches eventshoally lookin’ at yoar face, you’re the scariest thing under or over the water, you got a mouth fulla knives and a pocket fulla boonies, more knives and boonies than anyone knows what to do with, and you ain’t afraid to use either.

But Lalonde doesn’t blink.

And why would she? She krilled the biggest baddest hottest richest version a you that ebber lived in any universe.

And one day you’re gonna get her to spill how she did it.

“You’d tell me,” you say. “If you had a thing. With Fefs. In a quadrant. Right?”

“Of _course,_ duh, I’m not a _shithead,”_

You look at one another. The water between you’s boilin’. You’re riding that wave, balancing like every half a spade does, on the board between nasty hot black and just plain bad. She rides it pretty well. You dunno how. She’s no troll. Shouldn’t have any black in her blood. But she rides it better than any troll you’ve ebber hated.

Makes ya think aboat things sometimes.

“Man,” she says. Her hateable, pretty face’s terning into a _nasty_ little grin. “You’re gonna get up in my beeswax over thinkin’ I _mighta_ _maybe_ gotten banged by dear, sweet, precious Feffie? You care that much???”

“Ain’t _nomoby_ ,” you snap, “Grotto _any_ less bizness than _you_ givin _me_ carp-” you scoop her up, “-aboat gushin’ over Feferi,” she squeals as you dump her out on the crummy couch behind your desk, _“Dear-”_ you push her down, _“-sweet-”_ you grab your belt, _“-precious-”_ you yank your jeans off, _“Feferi,”_ you climb on top of her, your bulge wiggling out, you clench your fangs as you feel the air against it. Lalonde already has her undies around her ankles. Her pussy is all shiny and wet. “ _Cod_ , don’t you ebber _shut the fuck up,”_

You sit on top of her gams. You trap her under you, between your legs, your bulge tingles in the breeze from the air conditioning. “Make me,” Lalonde grins, fake-royal eyes gleaming like pearls, taunting you. She could get free - she could go Voidy and disappear into the couch - but she won’t, you know. You won - and anywaves if she went and phased out, you couldn’t get your bulge in her, and she don’t want that.

“Nah,” you say, pulling your lips back from your fangs, “I’ma make ya scream instead,”

Your tip goes into her weird sheathless nook, you buzz on reflex at how _hot_ she is, you’re gettin’ used to it slowly but she’s like a fuckin’ yellow. You ripple again, your bulge moves with a mind of its own as it burrows in deeper inside her, it wants that hot tightness reel bad.

You bite at her ear, her throat, her shoulder as you work yourshellf all the way in. You get thick fast - Lalonde laughs and gasps excitedly and then freaks out as you push in deeper, with slow, methodical ripples, patient like a shark - her nook _squeezes_ around you and your revving hum gets higher-pitched in a snap. She cries out and her scream echoes around the storage room.

Your black hiss-growl starts building for reel. You feel it going through you in waves, your pump pushing sweet sticky black all the way through you with each roll of your bulge in her pocket, it takes everyfin you got to stop from biting her arm off at how good it feels. (You wouldn’t ever. You ain’t givin’ her the satfishfaction. You’re not gonna take a bite outta her while you’re getting it on. It’s not gonna be _her_ that makes you lose control. You couldn’t stand the way she’d look at you once she came back, all her worst fears and suspfishions aboat you conchfirmed.

You ain’t gonna be the sea monster she thinks you are.)

Her sweet creamy legs are getting up around your middle. Her fronds are getting in your hair and digging in - she ain’t got claws, only those dinky, soft little human touchstubs, so she really _mantahandles_ your scalp, getting in at your horns. They’re growin’ fast; it can’t be too long until you have that huge, magnificent rack that She had, so there’s plenty for her to work with, and she injects gorgeous feelings into you that flow down through your entire hull, your head and hornbeds lighting up and making you grip her tighter. Your fronds go down and grope her choice booty, kneading her cheeks like lumps a dough, and she makes the greatest sound in the glubbin world, this bugfuck totally unhinged shriek as ya fuck her into the cushions.

You lose track of time, your bulge shoved up into her, pumping your hips in and out to let your slurry spurt off so you don’t fuck yourself right out of her from the fluid pressure, her hands in your hair, putting your mouth all over her, always driftin’ back to shore on her lips to get another hit’a that awful amaseaing intoxicating black taste. She’s _so tight,_ so _hot_ , there ain’t nofin like it, pretty shore she gone and ruined ya on coolblood spades. Your rumblespheres are flutterin’ and droning now, giving her that in-between growl-buzz vibraytion. It’s a threat - but it’s a challenge, an invitation to a contest, not a warning to back off.

You fall over on the couch, still wrapped around one another, your bulge still working inside her. You can’t get enough. She bangs on your head with a fist until you turn the two of you over and lay on your back. She props herself up on your lap, “Don’t stop,” she croaks.

“Couldn’t if I wanted ta.” You bring your claws up and start tearing at her Rogue vest.

“Fuckin’ A, Meens.” She hates when you do that but it’ll fix itshellf up all ship-shape after a while.

“I can do that, all you grotto do is ask,” you grin at her.

“God, shut up,”

“Make me,” you give her back.

She stretches her arms back behind her, bracing hershellf against your legs, and she starts to bob on top of you. Her human rumblespheres are bouncing and jiggling with every shove of her hips on yours. Both your crotches and legs and stomachs are covered in tyrian, dripping all over you, coming out of her nook every time your bulge swells. She ain’t got room in her little mammal body for it. Her pussy’s overflowing all over you and all over your couch (You’re gonna bill her for cleaning it) but it keeps clenching around you as she rolls her hips again and again, working her internal muscles to squeeze you, again and again. She’s smiling at you, from up where she’s sitting on top a you, and you realize suddenly that you aint just the one pailin’ _her_ no more. Your purring and buzzing is starting to get a little too happy, not threatening enough, you’re likin’ it too much, you’re moving your hips towards hers, you want to get deeper into her, you want it more, you want more a her, god you hate her, you hate her _so flippin much_ , you’re the one got your whole bulge stuffed inta her but _she’s winning-_

You reach up and get your stubs on her mammaries. Her ganderbulbs go wide for a second before you sink your claws in, stab her in the squishy meat a her human boobs, you get her little lactation nozzles between your fore and thumbclaw and _pinch_ like a crab. She throws her head back and _howls_ \- but you keep at it. She’s only ever said all stop once, the first time, and then once she cooled her jets for a minnow she told you to keep going.

It’s alwaves a toss-up who’s gonna finish first - humans take a while to pail (only the girls, Aranea tells you), so usually by the time she spouts you’re just aboat empty. You can still feel moby twenty perchcent left in your shameglobes when her thighs close around you like a shark’s jaws, squeezing your bulge so hard it hurts. Her moans and gasps build up and build up, steam escaping from her at a higher pitch, until you sea her eyes shut and her mouth open all the way and her scream gets so loud that her voice breaks and she goes all quiet for a sec.

The tension flows out of her, like someone just pulled the plug outta her drain. You hold up your hands and grab her to stop her floppin onto you like a beached whale. She catches herself. Your bulge keeps on fuckin her. “Glubbin ungraycious,” you gasp. She squirms but you hold her. Her hips shake each time you pulse inside her. You grab her by the face. “I ain’t done with ya,”

She closes the deal with her mouth. You dunno what it is aboat this gill but she _loves_ givin oaral, you’d think it’s humiliatin’ and all but she alwaves goes for it, she nebber bites when you stick your bulge down her squeal pipette, sometimes she even goes divin for it on her own. The sight a her deepthroating you, those sweet soft lips a hers all smeared tyrian as she sucks on your bulge like a wiggler breakin in its first set a teeth is the hottest fuckin fin in the universe. The time between your clicks shrinks and shrinks till your thorax is tripping over itself as that achy nice hollow reaction pulls in your groin, feelin your shame globes all empty for a moment before you hoist anchor and start resheathing.

Your bulge pulls itself out of her gaper and slowly disappears back between your legs. You both sag onto the couch like someone just let all the air outta ya, gaspin and puffin to take on air. The place smells like pheromones and Lalonde sweat.

After a couple minnows your pump intervals slow down and the adrenaline in your nose starts to leak outta you both, and you decaptcha your palmhusk. “Aaaand one more for me,” you say. You poke your finger into the center a the screen, leavin’ a fingerprint in fuschia that ticks a number up one digit. “Puts me at eighteen wins,” You grin at her. (You hope you sound more conchfident than you feel.) “Means ya only grotto get nine more wins to lap me insteada eight,”

She blows a raspberry at you. You sneer. “How’d a forkable lil piece a bait like you ebber pull one over on her?”

“Keep the wins comin’,” she stretches and you kick yourshellf for starin’ at her human boobs, “Gonna have to stack up a whole lot more if ya want me to sing,”

“Can’t even gimme a lil spot, Lalonde? Little anglerfish lure to keep me comin’ back?” It doesn’t matter how many wins you get, how many times you put her on the mat. She took you out at the top’a your game. Takin’ Her down earns her more wins than you’ll ebber be able to score if ya hate one another for the resta your lives.

“Like I gotta dangle bling in fronta you to get you comin’ back.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, lifts up a leg, sticks it out. “Coddam _straight_ I’m _forkable_ ,” (it comes outta her mouth as ‘str8’, in her dumb human quirk, reminds you too much of Aranea again) “Assumin’ you mean that in the sexy way not in the murdery way. TBH tho what’s the diff with you, am I rite? Long as you get to stick something in someone,”

“Basshole,”

“Bite size sea hag,”

“Eat me,”

“Just did, babe,”

You stare one another down for a moment, too pitch to sit still and too tired to be horny - and then she smiles. You do too, you both shoot each other mouthfuls of teeth, and relax back into the couch.

“I need a fuckin shower.” she finally says. “I’ma smell like fish for the next week. My GFs aint gonna touch me.”

“That smell gets ya motor revvin, dontcha pretend ya can lie to me, this drives ya nuts,”

She groans and rubs her eyes. “You’re corrupting my sexuality with your nasty, insidious alien fish wiles.”

“You can’t get enough’a ma rumblespheres, Rumblespheres. And you’re payin’ to have this place cleaned.”

“Eff you I am!”

“‘sthe least ya can do, ya gatecrasher, you know how much bank ya just cost me with that little show up there?”

“Lol, yea, cuz you were gonna make enough cash to kick Janey outta her Benevolent Corporate God-Queen Of The Universe seat off a tourist trap with a shark mouth.”

“Every dollar’s made up a a hundred pennies.”

“Shit, that’s kinda profound, Meens. In an asshole capitalist kinda way. You should write a book. Zen and The Art of Ripping People Off,”

You conchsider. It’s not a bad idea. Not a bad idea atoll. Share somea your experchtise with the world. “Oh my godddd if you actually do it I swear to god,”

“Cool proposal Lalonde. That’s why I stick around, sometimes ya have an idea. Broken clock’s on point twice a night,”

“We say ‘day’ around these parts, ya old bat,”

“Ain’t no fuckin’ bats in the ocean, dumbass,” you snap at her.

“Lol. I’d explain what that means but then I remembered it’d be a better use of my life to do literally anything other than spend time educating you,” She gets to her feet, fast enough that she shore does bounce, in all the right places. “Your main attraction’s real now. Offer’s still on the table.”

“...I’ll think aboat it.” You _will_ think about it. “I don’t make no business decisions while I’m still covered in ma own slurry.”

“Lmao fair. Wanna come shower at my place?”

You wave a frond indifferently. “Eh. Next time, moby.”

“You sure?” she gives you an obnoxiously sexy eyebrow. “I know you love the big crazy gold-plated carapace palace. Carapalace. Lol.”

You gape at her. “You ebber give me _any_ lip about puns again, I’ma go coastal on your ass.”

 

* * *

 

She rolls up her stuff and then disappears into the Void with a wink. You wonder if alla the horrorterror beasties are gettin’ thousands a eyefuls of her naked booty. (She’d probubbly be into that. Flippin’ exhifishionist Lalonde.) You wait a few ticks, clean up a tuna bit, wipe yourshellf off some, put some pants on, and then pull out your palmhusk and access the security feeds for the MPMP.

 

\-- causticCrabdicator [cc] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] at 12:15 --

CC: yo shades

CC: i got ya dirt

CC: you still payin for exclusives right

TG: of course

TG: what do you take me for girl

TG: some asswipe who has a direct line to the best footage of the most watched show in town and doesnt take advantage of it

TG: meenah how dare you insult me by suggesting that i would ever insult you by suggesting that you would ever sink to the level of being friends with a guy with business sense that bad

CC: cod youre almost as bad as ya pink lusus

TG: i am obligated to ask you to leave rox alone

TG: just so its on the record you understand

TG: also excuse me i am way worse

CC: you tryina horn in on ma black quad

TG: absolutely not

TG: im no spades homewrecker and im especially not going to homewreck you guys

TG: it would be a total mugs game whether i would get killed by you, rose, or rox

CC: that sounds like ya could get some long odds outta it

CC: moby make me a bundle

TG: oh my god

TG: i cant believe youre hatedating rox

TG: i dont think i can conceive of you actually banging a real person

TG: youre moneysexual

CC has attached a file!

TG: oh man im excited to watch this one

TG: rose keeps doing this thing where she wins the pool every round by doing a seer thing where like she asks what would be the craziest longshot bet she could place and still win

TG: and it tells her what the bet is but not how that actually happens

TG: so all her bets are these bonkers ass fred and george weasley things

TG: it doesnt actually spoil the ending of the fight in any way that matters because no one can figure out how the fuck you two get there

TG: and her bet this time was a fucking doozy let me tell you

TG: rox gets the knockout punch and the pin but you still take the win somehow

CC: yeah yeah im the sexiest ass kickinest deep divinest sea princess there is

CC: tell me somefin i dont know

TG: ok uhhhh

TG: the capitol of arkansas is called little rock

TG: grand moff tarkin’s first name is wilhuff

TG: the redshirt who hands geromy the wire cutters at the end of sbahj: the the film is actually a digitally resurrected cgi image of lucio fulci

TG: i can keep going

CC: oh my cod

CC: you glubbin dork

TG: considering that its you, do i have to worry about the possibility that youre calling me a whale penis

TG: i feel like theres no way you dont know that

CC: dont be an idiot

CC: whale penises are way bigger than you

CC: aint no confusin em

TG: ok then

TG: im just gonna carry on with my life and not examine that statement too hard

CC: listen motherglubber im not defined by my fish puns

TG: yeah you are

CC: no i aint

CC: ok yeah i am

CC: anywaves

CC: ushuoal fee right

TG: you got it princess

TG: i trust you that its top grade

TG: the lalonde-piexes stamp of quality speaks for itself around here

TG: when your museum opens for real btw you better save a ticket for me

TG: i want to see this giant shark mouth

TG: im gonna bring aradia too

TG: shell go nuts over something like this

TG: anyway later meenah

CC: pleashore doin business with ya as alwaves

TG: you know it

TG: watch for yourself on the stream

\-- turntechGodhead has ceased pestering causticCrabdicator at 12:23 --

 

You think you’re gonna be able to afford buyin that fossil off her no troubble. She still don’t know aboat your other source’a income. You’re waitin’ on the right time to spring it on her - even _you_ couldn’t put a price on the look on her face when she finds out she’s just makin you richer ebbery time you two go at it - whether you win or lose.

All the suckers _love_ watchin’ you two fight - ‘s a good match every time, so you make shore to alwaves record ‘em (the strifin’ parts, anyway). Strider and his conchtacts in the TV scene pay top dollar for material like that.

You call Eridan and tell him to come tidy this place up. You got a re-grand-opening to get ready for. Moby you’ll even invite Lalonde.

If ya rub your success in her face enough, it just might piss her off enough to get her to go another round...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another really interesting ship that would never have occurred to me outside of a swap! Really fun dynamic, and it led me to a lot of super interesting ideas about how these two got together in the first place - but it was a little too ambitious and experimental for a swap, so I'll very likely write it at some point in the future.
> 
> Thanks to kurifurinkan, Dragoneisha, and Flare for beta reading! And thanks to Liz for putting this whole thing together.


End file.
